


Jaime and Brienne - Ficlets and Drabbles Off the Top of My Head

by ikkiM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, chatfic, on the fly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:37:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: I occasionally write ficlets in chat. It was suggested they be posted here, but you can find a full thread of chatficshere.These are unbeta-ed, barely edited and just for fun.





	1. An Elaborate Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GumTree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/gifts), [Aerest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerest/gifts), [WackyGoofball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/gifts), [NicoleCollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleCollard/gifts), [december13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/december13/gifts).



Brienne pondered tossing her adding machine out the window. Not that the machine was the problem. Her client was the problem. Brienne had a thriving side business as a tax accountant. She was able to balance her career as a restorer of ancient weapons, which was only rarely lucrative, with her organizational and math skills.

It was all working wonderfully.

Until Jaime Lannister walked in her door with a certified check and a suitcase full of receipts. She'd known him for more than six months, since he asked her to restore the pommel of his family's sword, Brightroar. A beauty it was. And the work was going well, and he had been willing to pay up front. Then he learned about her side business as a tax accountant and declared he'd use no other.

She'd spent the last three hours totalling his 'business' receipts. Although what sort of business he was in, she had no idea. He had receipts for flowers, candy, chocolates, balloons, ..He'd even paid 5K to a poet!

Jaime had assured her these receipts were for the most important work of his entire life. She pulled the final, crumpled receipt from the bag. She smoothed it out. She blinked. The damn fool had paid a truly disgusting amount of dragons for a ring. Sapphire stone, rose quartz accents, platinum band. What in the world was this man thinking?

She looked up as she heard the soft knock on her door. There he stood, in all his handsome, tousled glory. She pondered throwing the adding machine at him, or at least teaching him how to maintain his receipts in an organized fashion.

"So, my swordswench, what's my damage?"

"I'm going to damage your head if you don't stop calling me that," she replied. He'd called her his swordswench since the first day they'd met, and while she hated it, part of her loved it as well. He was Jaime Lannister, handsome, snarky, and when he said it, her skin flushed all over.

Jaime grinned. He walked around her desk and perched his perfect behind on the corner, swinging one of his legs, so his foot lightly brushed her calf. She shivered.

"I have no idea why you think these are business deductions." She signaled to the now organized receipts.

He tilted his head at her. "Oh erm...about that..."

She raised a brow. "What?"

He began fingering the receipts. "Did you notice a pattern?"

"Well," she responded, blushing, "I'm not sure what kind of work it is you do..."

He leaned down, his face so close to hers she could smell his minty breath. "What kind of work do you think I do?"

She flushed and stammered, answering the first thing that came to her head. "Professional gigolo?"

He blinked at her.

She felt the red creeping over her face. "I mean, I cannot be party to something illegal, even if you pay your taxes properly."

He threw his head back and laughed. "My perfectly honorable swordswench!"

He snapped his fingers. In paraded servants in red trousers and gold jackets with sapphire buttons. The first had flowers. The second candy. The third chocolates. The fourth balloons. They deposited their wares to make room for a single man with a violin. The man began to play "The Bear and the Maiden Fair." Jaime was always humming that dirty tune. In one swift move, he dropped off her desk and went down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his trouser pocket.

She felt as if she were in a dream.

The song played on.

Jaime opened the box, and there rested a ring, echoing the colors of House Tarth. "My dear sexy swordswench, will you --"

And at that moment, the violinist sneezed, causing all of her neatly stacked receipts to rise from the table as giant flakes of snow, falling on her lap and the floor and one landing directly on Jaime's knee.

She cried out in alarm.

"--marry me?" he finished.

Brienne looked at the disaster in her office, the sheepish musician, the drifts of scraps of paper, the flowers, the balloons, the chocolates and candy. And she looked at Jaime.

She answered.


	2. A Bedtime Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet dreams to my EuroChatters.

Jaime smoothed the hair back from Brienne’s forehead and tucked the blankets around her. She might be a warrior but she needed her rest. She needed to heal.

She smiled at him, the milk of the poppy taking effect. “Tell me a story,” she mumbled.

He barely knew any stories. The ones he did know from Tyrion weren’t appropriate for the innocent Maid of Tarth.

“Please,” she said.

He could not resist. He cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, there was a princess.”

Her brow furrowed.

“A warrrior princess,” he corrected. She smiled, her silly crooked smile. His heart constricted.

Her pretty blue eyes blinked and began to close. “More,” she asked.

“And she found a knight, a golden knight with shit for honor who was unworthy of her.”

Her brow furrowed again.

“But he became a better man,” he added and she smiled. Her eyes closed and breathing steadied.

“And he loved her,” Jaime whispered and kissed her forehead.

“Jaime,” she whispered and brought her hand to his face. “Stay.”


	3. A Fairy Tale Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a few weeks ago in EuroChat, before it got too wild. They had wanted a Jaime and Brienne fairy tale. Well, I'm contrary so it's not exactly what they expected. But those Euros, they are amazing.
> 
> Just a reminder. I write these off the top of my head, so expect silliness and errors.

Brienne launched herself over the back of her father's couch, wrenching the photo album from Jaime Lannister's hands. She did a barrel roll across the floor, clutching the album to her chest, to the shocked stares of Jaime and her father.

Selwyn emitted a slight embarrassed cough and looked at Jaime, "Apologies, son, she's not usually like that."

Selwyn liked this new, ridiculously handsome boyfriend of Brienne's. For once she might have found a boy good enough for her. Maybe not good enough, but not _completely_ beneath her.

Jaime looked at Brienne in shock. He wanted to ask what the hell she was doing, but didn't want to engage in a full argument when he was trying so hard to impress her extremely tall father.

Brienne looked around in panic, trying to find and excuse for her behavior. She licked her lips. She thought. She blinked.

Selwyn raised a brow, "Brienne? Honey?"

"Oh Daddy, uhm, this album has that photo of me naked in the bath when I was five. I didn't want Jaime to see it and besides, as we are both police detectives, it might be considered kiddie porn." Brienne knew that was lame. And ridiculous. And stupid. But it was the best she could come up with on the fly.

"Kiddie porn?" Jaime laughed.

"Well, honey, I already showed him that one while you were in the kitchen. That one is your fourth grade album. He was just getting to our Father/Daughter costumes."

Brienne's face flamed. Gods, Jaime had seen the bathtub photos already! She never should have gone into the kitchen. She should never have left him alone with her father. But this album. This was worse! Brienne groaned.

Jaime grinned. "I thought they were adorable, with all that soap in your hair, using the rubber duckie as a weapon." He reached down to grab the corner of the album still clutched to her chest.

Brienne held tight.

Jaime tugged harder. Brienne tried to pry his fingers away. A small battle ensued. She slapped at his hand.

Selwyn furrowed his brow. "Now Brienne O. Tarth, I taught you better manners than that."

The sound of her father's booming voice distracted her and she loosened her grip momentarily, but long enough for Jaime to snatch the album from her. It landed in his lap falling open to the offending page.

"Oh gods," Brienne covered her face.

Jaime looked down and an unmanly giggle escaped him.

Selwyn beamed with pride.

"For Brienne's fourth grade year, we did Father/Daughter costumes from one of her favorite bedtime stories."

Brienne cringed, trying to bury herself under the coffee table.

Selwyn continued, "She always loved Jack and the Beanstalk."

Jaime cleared his throat, strangling back a laugh.

"I went as the Giant," Selwyn went on.

As the knowledge dawned on Jaime, he finished, "And Brienne is the beanstalk."

Brienne knew from the unholy light in Jaime's eyes that she'd just acquired a new, and likely permanent nickname. She grabbed a throw pillow and covered her face.

Selwyn beamed with pride, "She was so damn cute. Now let me find that fifth grade book where I went as the matador and she was Ferdinand the Bull."

Brienne beat her hand against the floor to ease the pain of her humiliation.

Jaime grinned. "Oh yes, how many of these books do you have?"

Brienne screamed into the throw pillow, trying to cover her father's answer.

"Now honey," Selwyn said, "don't make me break out the home movies."

In that moment, Jaime couldn't have loved her more.


	4. Kicking Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In EuroChat, december has been sharing her love for Cyd Charisse. That love inspired this silly little ficlet that I have gifted to her.
> 
> Remember, I write these in the middle of a chat room, so keep your expectations low! It's all about the laughs.

No," Brienne Tarth said. "No, no, _no_. I will not do it, Sansa."

The younger girl widened her blue eyes, looking as pathetic as possibe.

Brienne felt herself crumbling.

"Please, Brienne? For me? With Jeyne's sprained ankle, we are one person short and it would throw off all of the routine and you know the choreography because you've been helping all along," Sansa cajoled.

Brienne shuddered, she _did_ know the routine, but she had sworn she would not get sucked into Margaery's fundraising Rockette Performance for the Orphans of the Crossroads.

Sansa blinked rapidly. Brienne suspected she was doing it just so her eyes would look watery. Sansa's tears didn't matter though. Brienne thought about the orphans, those poor children, _of course_ she was going to do it. She sighed and grabbed the costume from Sansa. "Fine, fine, but this is going to be a disaster and the costume will look ridiculously short."

As she turned and made her way back to the dressing room, she heard Sansa respond, "And you'll be a shoo-in to win the high kick competition!"

Brienne cringed, almost tripping over her own feet.

\---

Jaime Lannister had no idea how he'd been sucked into attending a Charity Variety Show Orphanage Fundraiser. He looked at his brother beside him. _Oh yes,_ he did know. The performances were mostly dancing girls and well, Tyrion couldn't resist a female review.

Jaime glanced at the stage. The Rockette performance had been interesting, if a little disjointed. If he were honest with himself, and he usually was, Jaime did have a thing for a well-shaped long leg.

One of the Rockettes, a smirky Tyrell if he was right about the face shape, announced the next fundraising activity. "And now we have a high kick competition! Each of you can sponsor one of us ladies for the height of her kicks. And the largest donor will get a date with the highest kicker!"

Jaime ran his eyes over the line up of women. One of them, the tallest, the one who had managed to stay at the end of the line, mostly out of view, seemed to be trying to escape behind the curtains. As if a woman that large could hide.

Jaime glanced at her legs, her mile long legs, encased in black fishnets, and her skirt, well it seemed to be much shorter than the rest. Not that he was complaining. More leg for viewing.

Tyrion pulled out his wallet and shouted, "I sponsor you, Margie! One hundred bucks per inch of kick height!"

That was a ridiculous amount of money, but Tyrion had set the tone, soon all of the women were claimed, except the tallest one. She was trying to escape, but the other women were holding her in place.

Jaime noticed someone was about to claim her, some smarmy red headed shit he knew from somewhere. Fuck that asshole. Jaime wasn't going to lose to him. "I sponsor Legs up there, the tall one, at a thousand bucks an inch!"

The crowd gasped.

The enormous, leggy woman looked at him, her mouth gaping. Her eyes blinking, her big cowlike, pretty blue eyes. Jaime felt a stirring in his pants.

\--

Brienne had hoped not to be claimed so she could hide backstage, doing her assigned duty of collecting the pledge information. She'd complete the Rockette routine, wasn't that enough?

"Oh Brienne!" Sansa exclaimed.

"I can't do this!" Brienne responded. "No, no, _no_!"

"But think of the money! Think of the _orphans_."

Sansa was right, Brienne had no other options. No chance, no choice.

Sansa's sister, Arya, went first, and although she was flexible, she couldn't get her foot more than her own shoulder height.

Sansa went next, and managed her own shoulder as well, although she earned more simply by virtue of being taller.

Petyr Baelish, Sansa's sponsor, shouted out to the crowd. "I'll pay for the average of three kicks!"

Sansa groaned. Brienne knew she hated Baelish. Then again, who didn't?

Sansa seemed ready to decline the offer. Brienne narrowed her eyes and looked down at her friend. "It's for the orphans," she said and smirked.

Sansa sighed before kicking twice more.

Baelish paid up.

Then it was Margaery's turn.

"I'll pay for the highest of five kicks," Tyrion egged her on.

Margaery sent him a wink and started kicking. Brienne knew Margaery would kick all day to raise money for charity.

Finally, it was Brienne's turn. She finally looked at her sponsor. There was no doubt he was the hottest man in the room. And while she was thankful that he'd cut in before Ronnet freaking Connington could sponsor her, she couldn't believe he'd done it.

The man clapped his hands. "Whatever, my kicker is better than yours!" He eyed Brienne up and down and up again. "Just look at those gams."

 _Gams_ , indeed. She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Whatever, Jaime, Margaery has kicked the highest so far and made the most money, she's going to be my date!" Tyrion shouted.

 _Jaime_ , the man's name was _Jaime_. Brienne thought it over. Jaime Lannister? _No._ Not the Jaime Lannister who had pestered her over email regarding his delayed order of sword cleaner from her store. That _Jaime_?

She narrowed her eyes. Did he know who she even was?

Sansa shouted, "Come on Brienne! You can do it!"

Brienne saw an odd look cross over Jaime's face. He'd recognized her name. It was that Jaime!

His eyes met hers. "So, Legs, you going to get to kicking?"

Brienne felt rage boil up in her at the smirkiness of his face, the near mocking.

"I'll do ten kicks and you pay a thousand bucks per inch of height for every single kick," she challenged him. She knew he spent at least that much for the Valyrian steel sword he claimed to have.

The crowd let out a collective 'OOOO.'

The man grinned at her, not backing down. "Oh I'm rich enough. Get to it."

And with that Brienne released a high kick such that her foot extended above her head, and when wearing three inch heels, that made it six feet seven inches, or seventy-nine inches.

With one kick, Brienne had raised enough money to feed the entire orphanage for six months.

And she had nine kicks to go.

With a grunt, she kicked a second time, managing a kick of the same height, and again, and again, and again.

\---

Jaime could barely breathe, with one kick to go, he thought his pants might explode.

Not that he was one for strip clubs or dancing girls, but this was something else.

With a scowl and a grunt, Brienne, the sword shop owner and bane of his sword-collecting existence, managed a final kick of eighty-one inches, her legs in a perfect split.

She lowered her leg and glared at him. "I used to do rythmic gymnastics!" she boasted.

Jaime licked his lips. At the end of this night, his wallet might be a whole lot lighter, but he might have found the woman of his dreams.


End file.
